Exile
by Eric Ashley
Summary: Elsa, Queen of Arrendelle, has grown old before her time, living by her motto of 'no rules.' Her oppressed people eventually throw her out to another place; a place where a man lives by the concept of Harry's Rules.
1. Chapter 1

Exile

Fallen Queen of Arrendelle, Elsa the Ice Witch, sobbed in defeated rage. The tears and the flushed face did no favors to her already worn, and leathery countenance. She was only twenty-eight, but they had been hard years as she pursued her life of authenticity, of 'no rules' as her famous song put it. Already, she had white streaks in her hair, from wild nights, and from overstraining her powers.

"I will kill you all, and your families, and freeze your cities down the subbasements!" She hissed, yanking at the dozen chains leading from her wrists and feet to the men and women who held the Troll enchanted chains, so that several fell down on the ice in fear. She laughed like the sound of ice cracking.

She reached for her powers, but the chains sapped it all away. _Horrible little trolls, I'll kill them all when I get loose._ She swore an oath of doom in her head.

Elsa, Queen of Arrendelle stood tall, regal now.

 _"_ Let me go, and I will forgive this crime."

The sudden calm, and majesty touched the surrounding dozen, and those behind them who waited with pike, and torch, and ready bow. One man dropped the chain, and Elsa grinned confident of her victory.

"You killed my daughters in Artian Cove." An old woman said, and spat on the ice. The spit froze instantly.

Elsa paused, puzzled.

"No, I've never been in Artian Cove. So you see, old…."

"When your councillors said not to freeze the Western Part of the Great Ocean you froze them, for daring to lay on you rules. And then you froze the Ocean because you wanted to skate on a summer's day. My daughters were fishing in a boat in our cove, and your ice came into the cove, and shattered their boat, so that splinters of wood sliced them, and they bled out." The words were heavy, and flat, like stones placed down, one after another.

Elsa shrugged. "Well, I can be hardly blamed..."

"You froze my elk because you thought it would make a good sculpture." A man said, with a face of uncomprehending pain. "He was a good elk. Me friend. And you just froze him, and told me to thank you. I did, because otherwise you'd have frozen me." The man turned aside and wept.

"You killed..."  
"My crops died after one of your storms."  
"You waved your hand..."

Accusation after accusation flooded her, and finally Elsa had had enough. She threw her head back and roared. The temperature in the clearing dropped thirty degrees despite the chains, and all but Elsa shivered in cold and fear.

"YOU DARE! I am your Queen. What did you think 'no rules' meant, you stupid peasants?"

"Throw her in." A Troll spoke, and a nearby well was uncovered. And then with much tugging and pushing, Elsa, Fallen Queen of Arrendelle fell to what she supposed was her death. Into darkness she fell, and her shoulders were much bruised by the collisions with the stones sides of the well. After a bit, she noticed her chains were gone. Feeling triumphant, oh she would show them, she reached for her powers. They were gone. She fell further until she landed on wet stone.

The air was hideous warm, and drenched with liquid, like in the worst of the high summers she remembered from her childhood, but even worse. And it was night, and strange noises that drove her to madness. She stumbled through dirty rags and oddments stained with sticky liquids with stone brick walls on either side of her.

A man, perhaps, a horrid looking specimen if it was, lay in front of her path between the two buildings. He had dark clothes, and he stank as if he had spent a whole winter without bathing once in the ice water stream of his farm. But she recognized the smell of the bottle in his hand. The clear, square bottle held alcohol.

Being well familiar with ice wine, and vodka from her long nights of partying without end, she snatched the bottle from his hand to drink it. He rose to complain, and she smashed down with the bottle in her hand. The cheap glass shattered, and he slumped unconscious or dazed. Her liquor was gone. Enraged, she leaped down on him, striking, slashing, with the broken bottle. She kept on for longer than necessary, but when she was done, she felt better.

Dropping the bottle, Elsa walked on into the humid night.


	2. Chapter 2

The barista had tried to flirt by giving him an extra shot of espresso, so he was now Mildly Manic Dexter as he walked up to the crime scene in the alley. Ducking under the yellow tape separating the unholy sidewalk from the holy sanctum of forensics, he saw Debra standing there, hands on hips, looking put upon. It was her natural expression, and so without guilt he gave her one of the overdosed coffees.

"Hey Dexter." She said absently, and then sputtered and cursed. "What's in this, Dexter?"

"Sandy at Caramel Coffee thinks I'm cute." Dexter informed her as he stepped forward to examine the dead wino leaning against the dirty brick wall of a defunct drug store chain. Debra muttered imprecations about Sandy and wondered aloud what type of crazy woman would find her brother attractive. Dexter just smiled to himself as he took note of the blood spatter. Winding her up was as close to human as he got. He had been informed by many that brothers teasing sisters was normal.

"Poor George. He was harmless." One of the unis opined. Dexter looked carefully at him, and nodded. He had been reading books about how to be affirmative. In truth, he could already tell. The vic had no defensive wounds. George had just laid there as he was butchered in a frenzy of stabs by the broken glass vodka bottle to his right, which was already bagged up.

"Well Dexter, show us your magic." Doakes snarled from behind him, startling Dexter, making him want to leap up, spin around, and claw out the hardnosed man's throat. Instead he began pointing.

"The lines of blood fall like this, and this here, and this. I have not separated out all the strikes, but it looks like rapid punches and slashes on an unresisting victim with eight to ten strikes."

"Well, I could have told you that. Some freak went to town on this poor beggar."

"Well, Doakes, look at the shape of blood on the far wall of the alley." Dexter said, in a condescending tone. Doakes glared for a second, but he was a good detective. The shadow where no blood fell was short, and had a pyramid shape at the bottom.

"A woman in a long, flowing dress, kinda short in height. Well, that's unusual. Don't see too many uptown girls going pschyo with liquor bottles."

"Yes, they usually prefer poison." Debra sniped. "Give old hubby a special cup of coffee. Maybe that's what Sandy the Barista did." Dexter briefly considered it, and then shook it off, but not before seeing Debra smirk at him.

"It could be a drag queen, or a woman might have been defending herself. Sometimes first time self-defenders go overboard."

"But you don't think so, do you Dex?" Dexter's Dark Passenger stirred. No, it did not think so. Out there was a predator, a sloppy, messy lioness, crazed and enjoying the taste of blood.

"No, Doakes, I don't."

Deeply Discerning Dexter frowned at the report Debra was shaking under his nose. She was yelling something, but he ignored it sitting his office chair. This did not make sense. The fingerprints had been on the bottle, in plain easy view. No one who had spent more than three hours watching American television could fail to be aware of the technology of fingerprinting, and how it was used to capture Bad People, and send them away for a long time. Upon seeing the prints, Dexter had been worried. The case was too easy, the lioness, his lawful prey, according to the Code of Harry, would escape his justice by failing to the inferior judgment of the courts. But, no fingerprint match came back.

This should be unlikely. So many children fingerprinted to protect them against evil. So many budding young criminal careers temporarily waylaid by a stay in the pokey, and yet nothing. It did not make sense because someone as undisciplined as this would have done things before. And they would have gotten caught. It offended Dexter because this was not how he understood the world to work.

"And worse, its not a joke, she's got snowflakes." Debra finished ranting, finally saying something unexpected so Dexter paid attention.

"Hmm?"

"You've been ignoring me, haven't you?"

 _Moi?_ A look of butter wouldn't melt innocence that fooled no one in the cop desk room was displayed.

"You said snowflakes. I assume you don't mean those stupid, little protesters; or even more unlikely an actual bit of snow in semi-tropical Miami?" Dexter preened, enjoying the look of constipated fury on Debra's face. But he pulled it back down before she started smacking him with the folder in her right hand. She glared. He looked innocent. She sighed.

"She has snowflake prints for fingerprints." Dense Dexter blinked several times at this news, trying to process the notion. Finally, he looked, and confirmed for himself from his sister's folders.

"That's…." Dexter found his voice had left him. Dapper Dexter was temporarily gobsmacked by the Universe.  
1  
"Impossible. I know." Debra announced loudly. "I called the U. Their lead doc is convinced I'm playing a joke on him."

"Are you?" Dexter found himself asking without planning it. Which was dangerous for a human simulacrum if it voiced its thoughts without filter it might find its career of holy vengeance unfulfilled.

"No." Debra sighed. "I already said that." Her tone was so defeated that Dear Dexter reached and took her hand to offer comfort. She pulled free after a second, and gave him a wan smile. As she wandered away, attracting note from the other males in the room, Dexter leaned back in his chair, privately exulting. Whatever else this meant, it meant that the Police were not soon to catch his lioness.


End file.
